


Operation GGL

by NightWithoutStars



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, FBI students, M/M, and want him to get laid, crude language, hannibal would not approve, may not actually be funny because I'm German and have a weird sense of humour, now updated grammar, proceed with caution!, so that he can't fail their tests, who hate will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27087250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightWithoutStars/pseuds/NightWithoutStars
Summary: Somehow, they had to pass this class. Professor Will Graham, however, made it impossible to excel at the material - all because of his sexual frustration. So, they began Operation Get Graham Laid (GGL). Who cared if it was unethical and immoral?(It took them way too long to realize that their Professor was married to a man)
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 39
Kudos: 570





	Operation GGL

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [给格雷厄姆找老婆行动](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27148573) by [micchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/micchi/pseuds/micchi)



> Hi,  
> this is my first attempt at a Hannigram fanfic so I hope it works. It might also be my first attempt at humour and I hope you'll find it funny. But since I'm german, there are no promises made. 
> 
> For the text messages, we are throwing punctuation and grammar out the window, as college students tend to do :))
> 
> This does not follow a timeline, nor is it canon-compliant :)
> 
> Proceed with caution!
> 
> *GRAMMAR NOW UPDATED* (25.10.2020)

"Fifty-two per cent!", Clarice Starling wailed, downing another shot of vodka. 

The liquor tasted disgusting, especially when it was room temperature and undiluted. Yet, it seemed appropriate. A disappointing drink for a disappointing day. Tears burned in her eyes at the mere thought of the past ten hours. Just this morning, she had begun her day with as much optimism as a tired FBI trainee could, when they survived solely on coffee and instant noodles. She had flirted with her crush, had laughed with her friends and completed a satisfying workout. Then, at 10:30 am, it had all gone to hell. 

Last year, Clarice had been at the top of her year, academically speaking. This had granted her the opportunity to attend Professor Graham's highly sought-after lectures, together with twenty-three others. At the time, they had considered themselves incredibly lucky, as the man was considered one of the best criminal profilers the FBI had ever seen. His understanding of the criminal mind made forensic lectures fascinating and unique. 

This did not, however, prevent them from suffering at the hand of his prickly and strict demeanour. Within two months, seven members of their class had dropped out, leaving the rest to the solace of alcohol and sleep deprivation. Rumour had it that Professor Graham ate those students, who posed questions after class or outside of his office time. The, frankly, unfair grading of tests and papers drove all of them to mental breakdowns. At the four-month mark, Clarice and two of her friends had sat on the cold tiles of the ladies bathroom at the college, balling their eyes out for the duration of two hours. 

Now, seven months down the line, twelve of them remained, drowning their sorrows in a seedy bar. The 'practise test', as Graham had referred to it, had resulted in an average of forty-three per cent and waterfalls of tears from those who generally were some of the brightest within the academy. All of them had skipped their remaining lectures and made their way straight to the closest establishment.

"I learned every fucking word from his lectures by heart and what does he write under the red thirty-seven? _More originality_! The nerve!" Jimmy Price growled, slamming his glass onto the table. "Last time I displayed any _originality_ , he told me not to be so stupid!" A low murmur of agreement came from the group.

"Listen to this", Brian Zeller complained in turn, leafing through his paper, which, by now, was coated in various questionable substances, "'Perhaps, instead of studying for my class, which you will undoubtedly fail, you should consider studying a dictionary, so that you will not also fail at life.' Is he even allowed to write that?"

Clarice was the one to answer, her hand going for the bottle once more: "At this point, he could murder someone and nothing would happen. The head of the BAU defends him all the time, just because he's a good profiler. Honestly, Graham should not be allowed anywhere near a classroom with his attitude." 

"He just needs to get laid", Jake stated, nonchalant, while prodding his balled-up paper, "a good fuck does wonders for the mood."

Jimmy shuddered: "Gross. Our grumpy Professor in any state of undress is not something I want to think of while my failed test is soaked in whiskey. And anyway: would want to have sex with a guy who used the words: 'Atrocious, lack of skill'. Imagine if he does that in the bedroom." 

"I don't know", Beverly protested with a slur from where her head rested on the table. She was a drink away from passing out. Or a lesson with Professor Graham. "I'd bang him if he wouldn't speak. He's sexy."

The statement, though made with a clouded and inebriated mind, earned the girl a round of dubious looks, as her peers doubted her sanity. Admittedly, most girls partaking in the lecture had thought of the handsome man in a sexual context at least once. Yet, those fantasies quickly dissipated when faced with his continuous abrasive behaviour. 

"Point is", Jake soldiered on, uncaring of the tangent, "if we get him laid, then he'll be much nicer with his grading."

"How do you want to do that?" Clarice was not sure if her question was audible, as it was posed to the shot glass, rather than her fellow trainees. She lifted her gaze. "We can't exactly walk up to someone and be like 'Hey, do you want to sleep with our Professor, who hates people and is too interested in murder?' No woman in her right mind will agree to that. And even if one does, by some ungodly miracle, how would we even get him to like her."

However, her friend seemed to be a step ahead. "Ah, no problem. I already know exactly who will save our grades."

And so, Operation Get Graham Laid, or GGL for short, was born out of despair, tears, and extraordinary amounts of alcohol. It was set in motion the following day after most of them had recovered from splitting headaches associated with hangovers. However, despite immaculate preparations, consisting of a carefully hacked e-mail account, vandalism of a door, and the installation of cameras, the first stage of their plan was should prove to be a failure. 

*******

**To:** alanabloom@bau-fbi.com

 **From:** m.meyer@quantico.administration.com

 **Subject:** Lesson - 4th march

Dear Dr Bloom,

I realize that this is quite late, however, I must ask whether it would be possible for you to cover Mr Graham's forensic classes coming Monday. I have received notice that he is needed elsewhere and will therefore be unable to teach said class.

Kind regards,

Marcus Meyer  
Head of administration  
FBI college, Quantico

*******

"I can't believe she actually bought it!", Jake hissed too loudly from his vantage point. His eyes followed Dr Bloom, as she stepped through the hijacked door into a lecture hall void of students. It was, however, not void of a certain grouchy Professor. 

Their plan, carefully engineered, as though it may have been, was based mostly on luck. For one, they had no guarantee that the psychiatrist would believe the e-mail they had sent from Mr Meyer's computer - whose password had been embarrassingly easy to guess (the name of his wife followed by the number 1 was romantic but unsafe). Additionally, Ardelia had only been able to tamper with the door handle so that it would fall off, once the door closed, effectively trapping those within the lecture hall. 

They had been lucky that Graham, who was in habit of leaving the door open during his preparations, had arrived prior to Bloom, who preferred to keep it closed until the beginning of the lesson (a result of her profession, Alina wagered). 

"Get the live-stream!", Mark all but screamed, as the door fell shut and the handle broke off. "Get the live-stream!"

This segment of their plan encompassed the acquisition of a camera and a microphone, both of which had been carefully hidden. The expense, despite its enormity, had been worth every cent, as they huddled above the screen of a laptop, volume cranked up to the maximum while holding their breaths. 

"If they start fucking on the desk, I'm buying drinks for everyone", Beverly whispered, though she was quickly shushed by her peers. 

_"Alana?"_ , Graham's voice sounded metallic through the low-quality speaker. _"What are you doing here?"_

Dr Bloom came into view, holding the broken handle in one hand. 

_"I got an e-mail from Marcus asking me to cover your lectures for the day. I thought Jack had called you away."_ There was a hint of displeasure in her voice, at the mention of his absence, which left the hidden audiences with heart-shaped eyes and I-will-sink-with-this-ship thoughts.

 _"That's a mistake. Jack didn't-",_ Graham broke off, eyes zeroing in on the door handle, _"I think my students played a prank. Tasteless."_

"Fuck!" All of them screamed at once, reeling from the laptop. This was an unforeseen development, though it should have been expected. Their professor possessed an incredibly sharp mind and no belief in his student's innocence. Granted, said innocense had never truly been present. Still insulting though.

Clarice was the one to think on her feet, sprinting towards the sealed door. Using the acting skills acquired through participation in her fifth grade Drama lessons, she knocked carefully.

"Professor? The door is broken", she spoke through the wood. 

"I can see that", came the rude reply from within.

"Do you want us to call maintenance?"

"No, I would rather spend the remainder of my life in here." Sarcasm. If only the man knew to what lengths they went to ensure his happiness. And the improvement of their grades. 

"We actually should call maintenance", Clarice said, as she rejoined her peers before the screen down the hall. None of them reacted to her statement, as in the exact moment, Will Graham on the screen began to speak once more.

 _"How's_ _Margot?"_ , spoken with a level of awkwardness that was a testament to a prolonged time since their last encounter.

 _"Good."_ Dr Bloom answered, just as Brian whispered: "Who's Margot?" No one answered him.

 _"Good."_

An awkward pause, then: _"How are your dogs?"_

 _"Good."_ Graham scratched the back of his neck. More awkwardness. _"How's married life?"_

"MARRIED LIFE?", Jimmy screeched, drowning out the recorded conversation. "Jake, I swear to god! If you just made us do all this shit for nothing, I will personally kill you. _'They have sexual tension'_ my ass! She's married!"

This concluded their first attempt at Operation GGL. Should their Professor have known, he would have undoubtedly called their failure 'an embarrassment to the human mind'. They left the hidden camera and microphone inside the lecture hall out of convenience, as it would allow them to go over future lectures.

*******

The students spoke about GGL exactly twice in the following month. As it turned out, the plan's flaws were based upon their Professor's elusiveness. None of them knew any personal details of Will Graham's life. They did not know what he did once he left Quantico, had no clue when it came to his food tolerances, his interests, or romantic preferences.

There were exactly three things that were a certainty when it came to Graham.

First: He owned at least one dog (though, based on the amount of fur on his clothes, it would not be a surprise if he ran an animal shelter on the side).

Second: He had an empathy disorder, which allowed him to empathize with the minds of killers.

And lastly: His southern accent betrayed his origins.

Three vague facts were definitively not enough information to successfully set someone up with a sexual partner, as the students came to realize. Especially when that someone was the man, whose scowl even sent trained FBI agents running for the hills. As a consequence, the trainees resolved to simply observe their Professor's behaviour in order to find additional information. Surprisingly, it was Clarice, who revived Operation GGL on a late Thursday evening. 

*****

**WHATSAPP**

**Operation GGL**

**Clarice:  
  
**GUYS!!!!  
ARGHEJGJIOEJ!!!!  
GRAHAM IS HERE! I THINK THE WAITRESS I FLIRTING WITH HIM!

 **Jimmy:**  
Where are you??? 

**Clarice:**  
Pane e Vino

 **Jimmy:**  
The Italian restaurant with the amazing pizza?

 **Clarice** **:**  
yh

 **Brian:**  
Uhhhh, I love the one with tuna and spinach tbh...

 **Jimmy:**  
Rly? I would have pegged you for a classic Salami pizza O.O

 **Beverly:**  
How THE FUCK did we get from 'someone is interested in Graham' to your pizza preferences??

 **Jimmy:**  
Don't blame me ;) all my fat is high maintenance

 **Ardelia:**  
OMG! @Clarice send a pic!!!

 **Clarice:**  
{pic}

 **Mark:**  
...now I know why you didn't go into photography

 **Clarice:**  
I'm sorry - u try to take an inconspicuous picture of your professor without looking like a stalker  
I can't exactly pull out the tripod and quality lighting, can I?

 **Jake:**  
Who's that guy G is with?

 **Brian:**  
He's quite overdressed for Pane e Vino...   
The target customers of that place are college students without money. That suit looks hella expensive

 **Clarice:**  
I think that's his psychiatrist  
At least they are talking about 'sessions' and psychoanalysis soooo

 **Alex:**  
Who on earth goes to dinner with their psychiatrist??

 **Beverly:**  
Apparently Will Graham does. Wouldn't surprise me though. Isn't he like super unstable?

 **Jake:**  
I wouldn't take that for gold - the rumour originated from some tabloids saying he was a serial killer

 **Clarice:**  
Should I give the waitress his number? She might be our saviour!

 **Ardelia:**  
How do you even have his number? Isn't he like super tight about personal info?

 **Clarice:**  
He gave it to all of us a while back when his e-mail was hacked and we had to send our papers.

 **Jimmy:**  
Then what on earth are you waiting for??

 **Beverly:**  
Asksksfjen!!

 **Brian:**  
Do it! DO IT!

 **Carl:  
**YES, please! 

**Clarice:  
**Ok! I did it! If they end up sleeping together, you guys each owe me a drink!

*****

As it turned out, giving a stranger the personal phone number of their Professor, who prided himself a private person, had been a mistake. Over the weekend, a poll had been opened, on whether or not Graham had slept with the cute waitress from the Italian restaurant. On Monday morning, the designated twelve entered the lecture hall with high hopes. However, instead of a relaxed Will Graham, who, for once, wore a smile on his face, devil incarnate awaited them. That day, the lecture on the limitations of the Macdonald Triad had been replaced with one on boundaries, respect, and privacy. The following assignment had been an excruciating 15,000 words on the very same topic. After such a devastating defeat, Operation GGL was officially abandoned.

*******

It was Monday, that, for the first time this year, Professor Graham was late. The students had made themselves comfortable before the closed door to the lecture hall, placing bets on the reason behind the man's tardiness, additionally to its extent. In the end, however, Graham was merely five minutes behind schedule. 

Perhaps the trainees' inattention on that particular day could be accredited to the early morning, perhaps to the lack of instant coffee within the breakroom, perhaps to the lecture on a gruesome murder. No matter the reason behind it, none of them noticed the clothes, which were decidedly _not_ -Will-Graham. Instead of a worn flannel shirt with frayed collar, the man was clad in an incredibly soft-looking V-neck, which was just a tad too wide around the shoulders and a smidge too long at the arms. Some of the students would later wager that it was worth more than their rent. 

There was, however, no possibility of missing the purple bruises adorning the Professor's neck. They stood starkly against the pale skin, a perfect collar.

"Did someone try to strangle him?", Beverly whispered to Brian, wide eyes glued upon the marks.

"I read that he was the one to arrest the Happy Face Murderer this weekend", the trainee replied, referencing the multiple papers showering their Professor with praise for the arrest, "maybe there was a fight."

To all of them, a brutal fight for life or death was a more plausible explanation for the dark marks than the possibility of a passionate partner, who wished to stake a claim on _Professor Graham._ Therefore, the trainees quickly forgot about the incident. 

*******

Once more, the door to the lecture hall was locked, leaving the group of twelve trainees to gather before it in confusion.

"Twice in one week?", Clarice murmured, setting her bag down in anticipation of a longer waiting period. "You alright there?", she grinned at Jimmy, who had collapsed right next to her bag, his back resting against the wall.

"Don't mind me", he grumbled in response, "I am just dying - nothing to see here. I hate these fucking morning runs so much. Seriously, though. What's up with Graham?"

"Do you guys think there's another case?", Carl queried.

"Could be. Honestly, why-" A loud crash echoed from within the room, interrupting Clarice before she could formulate her complaint. "What the _fuck_ was that?"

"Do you think he's getting murdered in there?", Brian whispered, knuckles turning white from the force with which he clutched his bag.

"Maybe he's just lost his marbles? Demolishing the lecture hall, breaking chairs and electronics? Wouldn't surprise me if I'm being honest. People in these kinds of positions often tend to _crack_ from the pressure of their jobs. I imagine being in the minds of killers every day doesn't help."

"Nor does being your teacher, Jimmy. Eight months grading your horrible grammar and I would gladly break a few things." Beverly's eyes crinkled. 

Louis fiddled with the hem of his shirt, speaking in a low, worried voice: "What if he's injured? He could have fallen or something."

"Pretty sure he's just gone craze", Jimmy shrugged, "but I can check the live-stream if you want. Just to make sure we don't have to worry about our own safety once that door opens - in case he has turned evil." 

Upon a round of nods, the trainee pulled his laptop from his bag, setting it down so that they all could glance at the screen. What they saw, however, would haunt both their nightmares and wet dreams for quite some time in the future. 

Graham was bent over his desk, chest pressed against the wooden surface. His fingers gripped the edge as though it was a lifeline, saving him from imminent death. He looked younger this way, ridden of his armour of glasses and worn clothes. The thin waist and slight shoulders only enforced the impression. Sweat glistened upon his forehead, his brows drawn together, while his mouth hung open.

Above him, a man stood, one hand firmly clasped around Graham's biceps, the other one buried in the unruly, dark curls in a possessive gesture. He was handsome, if not in the conventional, _I-am-a-model-for-Giorgio-Armani_ way. The sharp cheekbones threw shadows upon his cleanly shaven face, accenting the air of danger surrounding him. As opposed to Graham, he still wore most of his clothes, the expensive, three-piece suit getting crinkled. The only nakedness was his cock, plunged deeply into-

"Turn it off!", Clarice shouted, lunging forward to close the lid of Jimmy's laptop. Her hand was caught by Beverly.

"Back off! This is kinda sexy. Is that the man from the restaurant?"

Reluctantly, Clarice faced the screen once more, eyeing the man above their professor with red cheeks. "Yeah", she gave her verdict, "it's him."

 _"Hannibal!",_ Graham screamed from within the classroom. _"Please-"_

Beneath the couple, the desk swayed dangerously, screeching against the floor in time with the older man's thrusts. He bent down to whisper into their Professor's ear, who in turn let out a loud moan, which caused the trainees to blush furiously. 

"Seriously, if he finds out we were spying on him having sex on his desk, bad grades are the least of our worries!" Clarice fought Beverly's grip viciously.

"She's right", Jimmy nodded, moving to close the live-stream, though reluctantly.

Unfortunately - or fortunately, depending on the point of view - he was not fast enough to avoid being witness to their Professor's climax. 

"Hannibal!", his voice sounded from within the classroom, loud enough to be audible through the sturdy door.

They exchanged glances, red cheeks testifying their embarrassment. Even Beverly showed the decency to be flustered from witnessing their grumpy Professor being fucked over his desk in front of a camera recording his actions. 

"We should delete the tape", Brian whispered, mortified.

Fifteen minutes later, inside the classroom, Hannibal began rightening his suit, while Will buttoned up his shirt, cheeks red, though his gaze was oddly triumphant. 

"Do you believe they finally realized that you are a married man?", the older man queried quietly, hands carding through his husband's dark curls.

"I'm not sure, maybe we should go for a second demonstration next week," Will grinned, pulling up his trousers. "I knew that camera would be good for something."

"Devious boy," Hannibal growled, leaning in to claim the Professor's mouth in a searing kiss. 

"Seriously, though," Will whispered against his lips, "I should take the camera off the wall if we are doing this again. One sex tape is enough for me."

"Your performance was excellent."

"Thanks. Likewise."

"Perhaps you should open the door for your students. I am certain that they are growing quite impatient," Hannibal murmured, rightening his tie. 

"You're right."

Will conceded, striding towards the door in order to open the lecture hall to his students. The red cheeks and inability to look him in the eyes revealed their accidental - or perhaps deliberate - act of voyeurism. Quicker than usual, the trainees found their seats, oddly focussed on their laptop screens and previous notes. Will could not deny a certain level of smugness, as he stood beside Hannibal, opening his PowerPoint presentation.

"This is my husband, Dr Hannibal Lecter," he introduced the man to his class, "he agreed to give a lecture on Cotard's Syndrome, from a psychiatric point of view. Specifically in accordance with the case of Georgia Madchen."

_**The End** _

[ **My Tumblr** ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/night-without-stars-9-9-9)

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and let me know what you think!! :))
> 
> If you want to ask me for prompts and stuff, just message me on Tumblr :))


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